In the mind of a Crazy
by Naniigirl99
Summary: My name is Edward Jones, and I've killed someone. I didn't mean to!  Rated T for mild language and just plain creepyness. Scared myself while writing it ! Hope you enjoy ! 3


My name is Edward Jones, and I've killed someone. I didn't mean too! The voices told me too! But, I can't deny that the feel of the knife plunging through skin, bone, and arteries into the soft organs beneath them was addicting. Maybe that's why I continued to kill. If it wasn't for the need to get my murderous fix, then it would have been harder than it was to kill the last one, a little girl walking home from school. I remember every little detail about her, from her brown hair and green eyes to her pale ivory skin. Her dress was a royal purple with light pink embroidered butterflies and flowers around the hem, and her little black Mary Janes were just scuffed from her day of first grade. She seemed to trust me, a strange man that offered to walk her home so that no crazies would hurt her. When I told the judge this in court, her father screamed that I was one of those crazies that I claimed to be protecting her from.

"No," I had said, confused. "I'm not crazy, the voices told me that some day she would grow up to be one of those women living in poverty in New York that disappeared daily only to be found a few days later raped, beaten, and left for dead in a ditch somewhere. They told me that it would be merciful of me to end her life before she had to go through all the pain and suffering in store."

The father had freaked out and tried to strangle me, screaming profanities and accusing me of being, frankly, a sick and twisted bastard that needs to be jailed and sentenced to death. Why does everyone think that I am crazy? I told him again, as he was being forcibly removed from the courtroom, that it was the voices that told me to kill her. I couldn't help but start crying.

"Why would I kill her? She was just an innocent little girl, as sweet as could be! The voices told me too! They said that if I didn't listen to them, not only would this sweet little girl have hardships and a horrible death in her future, they would kill me if I didn't help her!" I sobbed, collapsing to the floor. "I didn't want to die! I know that the voices weren't lying when they said they would kill me!"

Now, thanks to the judge and that damn jury, I'm sitting in the soft, white, padded room contemplating me life as the medication the nurse gave me starts to wear off.

_You know as well as I do that you love killing. The agonized screams as you plunge the knife deeper and deeper is the sweetest music you have ever heard. The red blood splashing from the body slowly growing limp in front of you is the sweetest thing that has ever touched your lips, painting the body with a magnificent shade of liquid crimson. The feeling of power in the taking of someone's God-given life is almost overwhelming in the fact that if you want to spare the life of someone, they will not die. The feeling of total control is addicting, and you know that even now, years after your last killing, you want to feel that burst of overwhelming power again. You want to kill again..._

The voices won't stop. This is an endless refrain in my head, dulling only after a fresh dose of medication. But what's worse, they're right. That feeling of total domination and control is addicting, and I DO want to kill again. I glance at the clock expectantly. 12:30 pm. The nurse will be in about two hours from now to administer my next dose of medication.

_You know you want to. The nurse is cheating on her husband, and wouldn't it be easier for him to cope with her death than with the fact that his beloved no longer loves him? Do it, you can easily overpower her. Take the needle and plunge it into her throat. The blood you have been dying to taste again will come, painting beautiful pictures in that deep crimson you have come to love so well all over those bright white walls you have learned to despise. Turning her crisp white uniform into a mosaic of red and white, and her too bright eyes dull, it will satisfy those cravings you have for color and darkness._

The voices are indeed right. I want that familiar color, that taste, that feeling of control. I'll wait, and soon she will become the newest member of those voices I keep hearing. What are those sounds? Has the nurse come early? It no longer matters. As long as I get my fix, nothing else matters. She is opening the door...

"Hello miss, would you like to help me be an artist?"

"Why thank you Mr. Jones. That is a wonderful offer," she enthused, pulling out the cursed needle and positioning it above my arm. "What is it that you want to draw with?"

_Do it! Now! Before she suspects something!_

I grabbed for the needle and pinned her against the wall, plunging it deep into the artery in her neck. I sighed, relishing in the comfortable and familiar gurgle as the life blood spills out over my hands. Letting her limp body slump to the floor, I lick the crimson liquid off my hand with a contented laugh.

"I want to paint the walls with your blood. I thank you for helping me achieve me goal of being an artist," I crouched down and smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry miss. Your husband will never know that you were cheating on him. By the way, this color of red looks perfect on you..."


End file.
